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There are three lads messing about on a park bench along Terrace Road. It is 4.45 am. Across the road one of their friends is calling to them. Matt, Matt, he calls, Matt, Matt, Stu over here.

There are kids everywhere, mostly drunk. Along the promenade I watched as a large boy in a t-shirt stumbled his way round the corner past the Aber American Diner. He lurched as he walked, banging into walls and finally stopping in front of the Ceredigion Bay Hotel where he proceeded to bang hard on its glass-fronted door. When I looked back he was still there, sitting in the covered doorway, head falling into his chest.

At the top of town there are more. I walk through the Castle grounds and come upon a form in the dark. Another large boy. Then I see a young man walking towards him. Ray, he shouts, Ray. Hey man, I’m really sorry, you alright? Ray lets out a loud wail. By the town clock two skinny boys in parkas are calling up to a window over Agnelli’s Trattoria and Deli but there is no response. They walk back towards the Pier. There is a loud burst of noise, like a salvo of gunfire. One of them has just jumped on a balloon. Two students are sitting in Superdrug’s doorway. I always do it that way, the girl is saying.

The smell of baking bread from Slater’s Bakery has theĀ aroma of salted peanuts.

The Christmas lights are up, as is the tree, but they are not turned on.

My blog article for New Welsh Review has been liked and retweeted several times. A small pleasure. To be read. That is all. That is enough. Might you read it too?

Idea for a short story. The Visitors. A small moment, but one of profound poignancy. But is it a story? He might ask. And my memoir. Write it as fiction, she said. She may be right.

I was meant to be in Bath today. I was sorry we couldn’t meet. I miss her. I sent white roses instead. I hope they please. And I think of another in Cornwall. What can I ask of her?

Keep safe, always. I love you.